Auld Lang Syne
Six Lasers - Bar Moon - Six Lasers System That's no moon. It's a Bar Moon. Roughly a quarter the size of Earth's moon, Bar Moon is one of three Nepsan Lunar Satellites. The Moon has no breathable atmosphere, but a massive indoor city covers the entire surface. The city is one bar after another, ranging from safe, nearly family oriented pub and grills to sports bars to raunchy strip bars. There isn't a liquor for any alien species that one can't find on this moon. The one combining factor is that every bar has televisions set up to watch the Olympic games. Advertisements and tourism info booths are set up for those seeking transport to other attractions. Bar Moon is a major transportation hub, second only to Grand Central Station, with shuttles and cruise liners often leaving for most of the attractions. Artificial gravity wells keep the gravity close to Earth's, though after chugging too many back you might not notice. Air Raid has arrived. Contrail has arrived. Torque has arrived. In a transformation that is harder than it looks, Contrail rises up into robot mode. Earthquake has arrived. Octane arrives from the Six Lasers Solar System. Octane has arrived. Blast Off sits at a nice establishment, one of many celebrating the New Year on Bar Moon. Parties go on all over the place, though for now this is one of the quieter bars. For now. The shuttle was traveling through the area, and with the coming of the New Year he decided to make a stop and contemplate the past... and the future. Or at the very least get a bit drunk. It's space... who cares if you drink and fly? (Just don't try reentering Earth Orbit while drunk.... definitely not recommended.) The Combaticon nurses a enerbeer, sitting alone in the corner of the bar in the shadows- it's his thing. Why an enerbeer? He might be thinking of a certain super-jerk, purple triplechanger he used to share those with. Or perhaps trying to forget. In fact, this is perhaps the first time he's been at a bar since Blitzwing died. "Speccccccial delivery! Hey, watch out! The galaxy's finest is coming through! Oh, and the stuff I'm carrying isn't half bad either!" Octane says as he strolls in, after slamming the door open. He heads up to the bar, waving the bartender over. "Hey, where do you want me to put this? I gotta unload...before I get loaded! Heh heh!" he says, elbowing Blast Off. "Get it?" Air Raid is here for one thing. High-grade. Delicious, rich, avgas-laced high-grade. Even though he's got a giant bottle of some already, and it spills over the place as he staggers in. Maybe he was following Octane. "TOO QUIET!" he declares, clumsily piggybacking Torque! As he makes his way through the tables towards the nearest jukebox-thinger and gives it a kick. He has somehow managed to procure a giant shiny red conical hat with a pom-pom on top, but it's fitted over his nosecone instead of his head. What the slag is all this 'new year' nonsense? Earthquake is just out to get overcharged and cause some trouble, same as any day off. Not long after Air Raid Octane's entrances, the hulking red frame of Squadron X's star linebreaker very nearly takes the door off its hinges, striding toward the bar. "What's that I heard about the galaxy's finest? Pour me some o' that!" "Party train, comin' through!" Torque declares loudly from the back of Raid as he stumbles in through the bar's entrance, a beer in hand and giant TF sized 2035 glasses on her face. "Whoo!" The femme cheers and shoots both hands up, having clearly been drinking beforehand by the bright blush of violet on her cheeks. But once she lets go of the Aerialbot it's rather hard to hold on to the wobbling mech with her legs. "Ack!" She flails a bit before falling off onto a table that flips on its side. It's a moment before she groans and sits upright, peering over said table with glasses crooked. "Hn.. I'm okay!" The medic bounces back immediately and chuckles heartily. Blast Off winces as Octanbe arrives. Welp, so much for a nice quiet evening of instrospection. He huffs slightly, then a little more loudly as he's elbowed, jerking his arm back in annoyance. "Do you mind?" As the bartender takes the drinks, the Combaticon draws his enerbeer closer and tells Octane in his customary condescending tone, "Yes, I get it. I just don't quite "get" what you're doing here, of all places, in all the cosmos." Sadly for Blast Off, his evening is about to get even noisier. When Air Raid comes in, the Combaticon stiffens slightly, and whispers to Octane, "...And what's *he* doing here?" And then Earthquake gets another annoyed look. He grumbles, "Too much *noise*, Earthquake." And finally, Torque. She is the only one he doesn't seem *entirely* displeased to see.... not that he looks *pleased*, either. He just blinks, then goes back to nursing his drink and hoping everyone goes away. Soon. Contrail is already here and has been for some time. She's sitting in a booth, not in the corner, but off to the side, nursing a Thermos of hot lithium-laced energon. She looks up briefly when more Transformers arrive. "Well aren't you a sad sack of bolts!" Octane says, slapping Blast Off on the back. "What you need is a pick me up. Hey! Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not into your type, but I COULD throw you a few lines...they always seem to work for me on the femme types...why there was this one, with spindly legs and an aft that could...hey, what DID happen to her? Anyway..." he says, with a flourish. "Bartender, set this fine gentlemech up with a Wild Petroturkey, and give it to him hacked and whipped, not shaken or stirred like some sissy drink!" Air Raid doesn't appear to notice Torque having fallen back onto a table, his bottle lifted up over his head as he drains it. "Well if it isn't... Challenger." He smirks. "Oh slag Torque JEEZ!" He laughs as he hauls her upright, "We can't take her anywhere! Whuff this place is too /purple/," he eventually notes all the 'cons. "Eh well. Hey gimme' some a' what you're packin', 'Tane." His mirth vanishes when he spots Contrail. HATE. He just glares for a bit. Sandstorm arrives from the Six Lasers Solar System. Sandstorm has arrived. Sandstorm strides into view, looking for some excitement. Torque pushes the glasses back on her face properly while being pauled back to her feet, the femme snickering and hanging off the jet's shoulder to kep her from falling again. "Heheh, it's not my fault I like my energon." She teases and takes a long pull of her beer before nearly sputtering when spying Blast Off. "Heeey, Blast Off!" She grins crookedly and leaves Raid to drop down in the booth, wrapping a strong arm around the mech's neck and muscling him in close. "Good to see yah! Heheh, and that new paint is still lookin' good." Was that a come on? Blast Off bristles at the back slap and huffs again, but doesn't bother saying anything. he does scoot slightly away from Octane though. then just kind of stares at him as he goes on about femmes, not quite sure what to make of him. "I'm... perfectly fine. I like to be alone, anyway. But... I will accept the drink." The drink placates him a bit, and he settles in to sip it. "I never seem to meet many femmes in bars, anyway. ....Not that I look for such things here, of course." Raid gets some narrowed optics at the mention of "Challenger", and he *almost* says something, but at the last second decides to opt for peace and quiet and goes back to his drink. Then Torque calls to him and he does glance back at her. He then tries to ignore her, too, but when she wraps an arm around him he sputters and pulls back in a frantic huff. "EXCUSE ME! I mean you. I mean...." He blinks and leans away, taking very long swig of his drink now. "I... uh, yes." He finishes somewhat lamely. Solstice arrives from the Six Lasers Solar System. Solstice has arrived. It's hardly the first or the last time Sandstorm has been to the Bar Moon and he wasn't kidding about knowing most every place on it. It's a Wrecker thing, needing to occasionally drown some of the things they do for war in the strongest, cheapest booze you can find. He's also been kicked out of several of them. Also a Wrecker thing. "Well would you look at this. It's already a party starting in here." Octane turns to face away from the bar, leaning his elbows on it, and relaxing "Hey here comes Air Raid. I think I see Torque over there, check out Octane's magic mojo.../if ya stay close ya might get some actionnnnnn!/" he says, almost singing the last phrase. "Hey, there Air Raid, sure I'll set you up. But it's like they say about drinking, it's always better with a *paaaaaal*. And your paaaaaal over there looks...like she's about to fall over but...*also* looks kinda sad all by herself, you wouldn't want her to miss out on this *prime* 2016 vintage would you? I thought not." he says with a practiced smile in his voice. "Why don't you bring her over here so there isn't a 3rd wheel, hm?" He nudges Blast Off again, "'cause none of us are trikes here, right Blast Off? Training wheels are OFF! Par-TAY!" Air Raid, again, doesn't rightly notice Torque buddying up to Blast Off until said 'con sputters and huffs like a goose. And Octane points her out. "Now Torque," he says, voice mock-chiding, "Don't rile up the princess, he obviously doesn't want to be bothered... being in a pub... on the Terran new year's eve." He squints at Octane. "Torque, Octane wants you to taste some of his vintage stuff." Enter Sandstorm. Maybe Sandstorm heard that comment about choppers. "H-hey Sandy!" Contrail perks up a bit to watch her fellow Decepticons interact with the hated Autobots. Is anyone going to be dumb enough to betray the cause? Contrail could really go for pumelling someone's face in... She squints and takes a sip of her drink, putting her reading away. "Hey, why don't you sit your pretty little...self down there next to Blast Off..." Octane says, a smirk on one side of his face, "and let me set-a-you up. Blast Off, why don't you tell Torque here about your uh...brave...adventures with the Combaticons." he leans over and whispers in Blast Off's audial. "Try not to mention shooting and/or maiming Autobots, I think that may be one of her turn offs. Go go go!" he stands up straight. "Par-TAY!" Solstice quietly squeezes into an establishment that matches coordinante sent and looks for a good spot by a wall. A bit of step-shuffle, turn and she gets settled, turning about to look over the crowd to see if any faces match images memorized from files. Torque frowns a little when Blast Off pulls away, but almost immediately brightens up again and snickers past a grin. "Aw, c'mon don't be like that." She teases, leaning up on the shuttleformer to mess with him a little. But she doesn't torture the poor mech, instead pursing lips poutily at Raid's chiding and leaning halfway out of the booth when a certain voice is heard. "Sandstorm!" An arm flails to get his attention. "Join us!" But then Raid has to go talking about more booze, which really gets her attention. Antennas perk lazily when turning to Octane, a wry smirk following. "That so? Much as I like vintage, I'm morein the mood to get tanked." Torque then gains a couragous expression and slams a fist on the table. "Hit me up with your strongest, mech!" "Hey Air Raid, already getting a start on the drinkin' eh?" If he did or not, possibly Sandstorm doesn't really care as he swats the Aerialbot on the back. "Well like they say, don't put off a good thing." He drops into the seat next to him and turns to lean one elbow on the counter. "So who's the bartender for the ni-whoa!" He jerks back for a moment in surprise at seeing Octane. "Huh, moonlightning mixing drinks. Tough times in the Empire or you just doing it to show off?" Blast Off gives Raid an icy look as the Aerialbot continues to taunt him. Pulling himself up straight, he tilts his head. "Most *amusing*, Air Raid. Your brilliant sense of humor never ceases to amaze me." He's about to add, (But it was not as amusing as it was watching you do a tail spin into unconsciousness the last time I shot you...) Then Octane advises him to say anything *but* that. He blinks again, looking at Octane then Torque. "Uh..." Torque leaning against him really doesn't help, and he's got Octane on one side, Torque on the other. Suddenly standing up, he shouts for the bartender to bring some more drinks. Mainly because it's a way to get a tiny bit of space. At least temporarily. "Why are *you* here, anyway?", he asks no one in particular. But maybe Torque. Contrail reaches awkwardly around, sitting there in her booth, and opens up one of her back panels. She rummages around, looking for... A canister, which she withdraws. She sets it on the table in front of her. She finishes her Thermos. Then she pulls out her demolition kit, and she carefully starts to open up the canister... Air Raid mutters to Sandstorm, "... pissy from when... Blitzwing..." Air Raid appears /supremely/ honored by that back-slap. Sandstorm is so cool uguuu. Blast Off's sharp look earns a small scoff, and a returned gaze that's every bit as challenging. Since Torque is in capable ('con) hands (he's not worried, she's got a painful punch!), Raid heads over to Contrail's little booth. And sits across from her. "Science? On a night like this?" Contrail looks up at Air Raid and smiles brightly at him. She greets, "Ah, Air Raid! My /subject/ by right of combat. This isn't science. This is /bartending/." She gets the canister popped open and pours it into the now-empty Thermos. It's... yellow. Very yellow. Then she stows the partially-emptied canister back in her back and closes up the panel. Solstice pulls out a data-device, thumbs it on and starts reading, occasionally glancing up to crowd watch with the sort of wide-optic'd innocence seen in magazins. Octane puts a hand on Blast Off's shoulder, trying to nudge him back down in his seat. "Hey, I've got you covered right here." he says, and slides a bubbling brew down the bar, using his best shufflepuck style slide(magnet guided of course. Talent? what?), to the spot in front of Torque. "Now don't let it fool you, the vapors are tame, but this one packs a punch. Real smooth, though, like m-Blast-Off, here. Ain't that right, Blast Off?" Air Raid is doing a fairly decent job of hiding his spite, save for the tap-taping of his fingers. He eyes the substance. "What do you mean /subject/," he queries quietly, optics drifting back out over the bar. To spot Solstice! He beckons the orange 'bot, "Contrail has her own brew apparently!" Blast Off is trying really hard to ignore Air Raid, but he's not making it easy. He hears Raid mutter the name Blitzwing. He tenses. That's it, he's gonna shoot the turbo-turkey right now...but Octane nudges him back in his seat and tries to reengage him with Torque. He blinks, again glancing from Octane to Torque. "Uh... yes. ... Right." He attempts to look more aloof and less ready-to-kill-Air-Raid. Besides- perhaps Contrail is about to do that for him? "Yes. Octane has, uh... quite a reputation." Sandstorm glances over at Blast Off and Torque (lucky bastard), then back to Contrail and Air Raid (lucky... uh.. okay got nothing.). Then shrugs and settles on the bar. If they're going to play nice with the Decepticons for the night, he can play nice at least for now. "Hey Octane, slide something over here! Preferably strong and potentially hazardous. It's not a night for living lightly!" Contrail rubs her chin and says innocently, "I beat you in a King of Seekers match. I made you kneel before Primus and all of Vos. You are my subject. Of course, we're on opposing sides, but..." She shrugs, hands in the air. "You want a drink?" She slides the Thermos towards Air Raid. Torque quirks a brow at Blast Off question, soon smiling and reaching up to hold the backs of her glasses and waggle the front up and down on her face. "We're celebrating, of course! It's Earth's New Year, so we figured we'd come out for a drink, yah know? It's a huge party world-wide!" Though since there aren't many Cybertronian bars on Earth, they thought it better just to come to the party planet that is Bar Moon. "It's a good day, lighten up a little, yeah?" She smiles and reaches up high to suddenly stick the festive glasses on the Combaticon's face. Optics flick back to Raid who seems to be paying Contrail a visit, the femme in question getting a little snort. but she can't keep attention on her long, not when booze are coming her way. Reaching out, Torque snatches up the drink as it slides towards her and gives it a sniff. "Hmm.." Drink something a Con brewed up? Sure, why not! No fear! With that in mind she immediately tips back the glass and takes a long pull that has her hissing through her dentals after an optics squinting harshly. "Oof, you weren't kidding! Your mix mastery preceeds you, Octane." Torque beams and lifts the glass to him in a toast. "To the New Year!" And with that she chugs the whole things. Oh dear. Octane leans down, whispering only one word, musically, to Blast Off. "Actionnnnn!" he says, and then slides a few more drinks down to Air Raid, Sandstorm, and of course, Blast Off. "Take the edge off, pal. Live a little." His optics go wide, as Torque downs the equivalent of 200 proof in human terms. "That's going to be a hard landing..." he mutters, as she hits a lean-back in her downing of the drink. Solstice glances up and blinks at the mystery mech waving appendages. There's some confusion evident on her face but she gives her data-thing a glance and matches a name with the face and arms. A cheerful wave in return and she heads towards the unknowns with a merry grin. "So where's Vector Sigma?" Air Raid slides over to offer room for Solstice, and gestures to the holoviewers showing the Terran BALL that... yes, looks a lot like Vector Sigma. "It's not /actually/ Vector Sigma," he informs. Contrail has his optics optics narrowing and his fingers curling against the table. "I'm not your /subject/, ya' mad zealot, and you are no /king/," he says tersely. The thermos is regarded briefly. "I bet you think I won't drink it. And I bet it's completely harmless, right? So you'll get to enjoy me backing down like a coward. TOO BAD." He grabs up the concoction and takes a swig. Sandstorm laaaughs as Torque chugs back whatever it was without a problem. "Damn that femme can drink. No wonder Whirl was stal-err--pursuing her interests." Achem. As Octane passes a drink his way he scoops it up. "Seeing as this is technically a human holiday, might as well do this properly. Cheers!" He hoists the glass up for a moment, and then leans back to chug it all down in one go. Blast Off notices Solstice and Sandstorm briefly, but is otherwise engaged with hoping Contrail kills Raid and hoping he'll stop thinking how nice that paint job by Torque was. He watches, optic ridge raising, as Torque drinks *the whole thing*. Oh well, it's not his place to say anything. Besides, drunk Autobots are probably less adept at fighting, anyway. The glasses, though... no, just no. He glares slightly and takes them off. Yes, he's a spoilsport. Dignity, he's all about dignity. Trying to ignore the glasses incident, he instead replies, "Yes, I am aware that this is the fles... Earthlings' solar cycle celebration. And whether I like it or not, even I've been on that mudba...uh, Earth long enough to learn about that ritual. I suppose some can't help but pick up certain... traditions from local cultures..." Not that *he* would. He takes another sip, then looks back to Octane. "I'm a space shuttle, I see and experience everything. Of course I live..." Wait, no... that may not be what Octane meant. Blast Off has no people skills, sadly, so he's not quite sure. "I... thought I was living it up. I'm... at a bar. I'm drinking, see?" He holds up the glass and looks at Octane and Torque , then drinks again. "Living it up. Yes." Blast Off sounds about as exciting as a school-room textbook from 1955 as he says that last line. Torque probably shouldn't have done that since it immediately hits her systems. With the last drop downed, she rocks back forward and slams the glass on the table while cheering drunkenly, "Whooo!" Volatile energon coursing through her systems is clear by the droopy antennas and brighter lights, amber optics nearly as bright as a sun! "Gimme another!" She slurrs a little at Octane, grinning like a drunken fool. She probably shouldn't have pre-gamed before coming here. "Bigger glass." Yep, bad idea. To Blast Off at her side, Torque nudges at him playfully with an elbow. "Tch, that'sh not livin' it up.. Gotta cut loose! Heheh, if yah do, maybe I'll offer t' paint you again." Now that is just cruel incentive. Contrail steeples her fingers under her chin and deadpans, "Actually, I was expecting that you would drink it. That's why I offered it. Would you like to dance now?" She stands up, slides out of the booth, and offers Air Raid a hand. Air Raid grimaces slightly. Then Contrail tries to get him to /dance/. Ugh. YEAH RIGHT CONEHEAD. He's about to shoot her down, only to find he can't... quite... say no. And he's can't stop his hand from taking hers. And his feet from moving to the floor. "Nrgh," he mumbles as everything goes kinda' fluffy and hazy. Dancing sounds like a good idea! So claims his processor. Alas, Contrail has FAILED TO KILL HIM. "Expensive date." Octane says to Blast Off. He slides another one over to Torque. "Come on, Blast-Off. There has to be *some* story you have to tell that's of interest to...ehhh...mechswithinearshot" he trails off. He leans over the counter and has a few quick words with the bartender who nods and smiles approvingly, rubbing his hands together. Contrail takes the lead, pulling Air Raid close. She chatters pleasantly, "You know, in one part of Cybertron, when the war was new, Seekers chose their wingmates through dance? Not this kind of dance, here on a floor. They did it in the air, in groups of four. If a dancer made a mistakes, the others were /obligated/ to shoot him." She spins Air Raid out and then pulls him back. Whee, dizzy. "Failure to shoot him was in itself a mistake. Four would take to the air. Three would survive as wingmates." Blast Off raises his optic ridge again as Torque gets more and more plastered- and up-close. He leans back slightly... but oh... yes, that paint job offer is indeed the cruelest torture. His optics immediately widen with interest and he leans forward, then he remembers they're surrounded by several other Cons- and Bots. "Brows" furrow and he leans back again with a forced huff. "That... why would I.... I mean, that isn't anything that would interest..." He's got enough high-grade in him now that his own thinking is getting rather fuzzy as well, so he finally just stops and takes another drink instead. And yet.... he still feels the need to NOT *completely* close the possibility. Octane finally pushes him over the edge. "I CAN have fun! I can live it up!" He sounds more defensive than anything. "The other day- I even flew through an asteroid field! Ok, it's because I *had* to in order to get where I needed to go, but still..." Then he stops and stares as... is Contrail *dancing* with Air Raid? He... he must be drunker than he thought. Octane muttering something to the bartender also gets a slightly suspicious look, but he then shrugs. "What about you, Octane? You say I should have a live-it-up story. Care to give an example?" "Baaahahahahah!" Sandstorm rocks a bit with laughter as Blast Off gets all testy. "Flying through asteroids, sure. But that doesn't count as -fun- if you're -suppose- to be flying through them!" He takes another drink and leans on the bar. "Don't you ever go just to, y'know, see the sights? Go someplace you haven't gone before, and -not- just because some mission tells you to?" Air Raid doesn't panic very often at all, but when he does, it's pretty dire and... not like this? RAGH! Get /away/ you filthy slagging piece of-wheeee spinning. Whatever Contrail gave him has his logic and reasoning pouring out of his vents. "That sounds brutal," he says airily, "Tell me more about Seekers," he can't stop his subconsciousness from blurting. "Me? Me? Oh, you've got to be kidding. Okay, you're not kidding. Here it is. You're living it. Bright Lights, dancing, and lots of overenergized mechs just looking for their kicks. Blast Off, I'm not just the life of the party, I *am* the party. I uh..." he looks over at Torque. "am not quite the partier like you though, Blast Off, man, you and those asteroids, well, and there was that time on Charr and...wait, that wasn't...you..." he leans in again, whispering in Blast Off's audial again, and shrugs. "I've got nothing. The tank is, metaphorically of course, bone dry."Octane suddenly stands up again. "Torque? Refill?" He gives Blast-Off a half-hearted smile. Solstice stops as Air Raid and another meander off to dance and scuffs a foot on the floor before shrugging, leaning against the booth seat edge. Her optics brighten and she seems content to watch the shenanigans. Torque snickers softly at Blast Off's blustering, the femme reaching to tug playfully at his mouthguard. "Heh, you know you wanna." Other hand catches the second glass and she nods her thanks to Octane before sipping at it a little slower than before. But something.. feels odd by the time she gets halfway through it. And not the sick odd, but.. a feeling. Optics turn to view Air Raid dancing with.. another femme. Cue Kill Bill siren. Drooping antennas flick upright in an instant. "...S'cuse me a sec." She mutters to the mechs around her and puts down her drink, standing with a moment to right herself before determinedly making her way to the dance floor to the two fliers. "Hate to butt in.." Torque interrupts Contrail and Raid's dance with a hand finding its way to the former's shoulder, holding fast. "But it seems you're dancin' with the wrong mech there. Might wanna step away.." If Contrail looks over she'll be met with a drunken smirk and a challenging glare, Torque looking ready to get fired up. Seems she's can be an angry drunk too... "Glad to," Contrail murmurs when Air Raid asks her to tell him more about Seekers. She keeps him dancing, though, her grip... firm. "In the old days, only the standard-design flatheads were allowed to dance. No variant wings allowed. You'll still find some like that, but most have realized that, to survive, aerial dance had to /transform/. These days, I think, Air Raid, that they'd even let you dance, if someone vouched for you. But oh, who do you know who would?" Then, suddenly, there's Torque up in Contrail's grill. Contrail looks Torque up and down and then remarks cooly to Air Raid, "Does she own you, like a Quintesson slavemaster? Or is your destiny yours to dictate?" Octane growls. "Come on Blast Off! Your quarry's getting away. You want her to dance with some other mech?" He tries to rouse the other mech from his sad-sack stool. "Get up! Get out there! Bust a move! *actionnnnnn!*" "Oh now this is getting to be a party... and it's not me starting it for once either!" Sandstorm laughs a bit and orders up another drink for himself. Blast Off gives Sandstorm a slightly morose look. Actually, the answer is yes... he loves to explore space. But... everytime he tells people that, and tries to explain why he loves that so, they make fun of him. Or so it seems. He sits there a moment, then says suspiciously, "....Maybe. But no one can appreciate the sights I've seen. They just...scoff at them, because they have never seen them." Then Octane chimes in and he nods. "Yes. Yes. Partier. I am? Oh, right. Yes." Octane's whispers get more of a concerned look, then he nods to Octane, "Ok, yes. I've... I've got this." He almost gives Octane a thumbs-up, then realizes that would SO not be in-character, so he doesn't. He turns to tell Torque something, but she is suddenly all hands-on and he freezes. If space is so cold, why are his circuits heating up? Then, just like that... she is gone. Blast Off just sits there, too befuddled to react much more than watch her sidle up to Contrail. Then Octane shoves him out of his seat and he half-stumbles towards Torque and the others. He looks back to Octane... looking just a bit lost- and drunk, then to Torque and says, *trying to be helpful*, "Uh... I guess they're living it up too?" As Blast-Off looks back, Octane is gyrating hips, waving arms, nodding emphatically, pointing at Torque. Octane mouths "SHUTTLE OF LOVE." Nods. Thumbs up. Air Raid's optics brighten at the mention of the /opportunity/ to fly amongst those that may actually /appreciate/ his skills. He's naught but putty or some marionette that Contrail draws along the floor. "I don't know who would," he mumbles lamely, and then suddenly TORK! He stares at the purplish blur and teeters uneasily. Quintesson slavemaster... "She doesn't own me!" he finally replies. "I dictate my own... dictations!" Looking over to see Octane's gyrations is enough to jar him back into a bit of reality. "M-maybe that's enough dancing." Sandstorm leans over to give Octane an elbow nudge. "Well now we know who wears the bulwark in -that- relationship, huh?" Torque is pretty drunk right now, so only so much is able to filter through her her audials to her processor. When Contrail speaks up, Torque suddenly stiffens, fists balling up and jaw tightening. "Did you just call me a Quint?! That's it, you're goin' down, yah two-bit tripleslag hussy!" The medic suddenly roars, all fired up. If Contrail isn't careful she'll suddenly find her feet leaving the ground as Torque makes a move to grab her and hoist her up over her head with that tow truck strength. If she's even able to do so, Blast Off would have to watch out as Contrail is tossed over his head and hurled into Octane's booth. Combat: Torque sets her defense level to Fearless. Combat: Torque misses Contrail with her Drunken Rage attack! -1 Octane stops his gyrations. His shoulders slump just a little, and he quietly shakes his head. He pours himself some of his own (wierd!) and sips at it. "There is no helping some mechs. Some of us got it...and some of us...well, I got it. Yeah." He takes another sip. "I think the entertainment is about to start" Contrail suggests softly, "You'd be more comfortable on the floor, Air Raid. On your knees. If you want to dance - /really/ dance, in the sky, as you were made to do - you know how to find me." Actually, he probably doesn't? But he can just yell at her on the Cybertron channel like a yahoo or something. As Torque's powerfist comes barrelling at Contrail, she plants her feet solidly on the floor and reaches up to catch Torque's fist with both hands. Contrail SMILES, takes off one hand, and reaches for Torque's shoulder. She murmurs, "Why Torque, if you wanted to dance, you could have just said so." Blast Off keeps glancing back at Octane, who is making the Combaticon more nervous than anything, then back to the others. Torque suddenly goes into a drunken rage... and somehow rather than scoffing at the "brutish" behavior he just finds himself thinking that Autobot femmes who aren't afraid to throw a few pounches are unexpectedly ...kinda hot. Of course, he's very drunk, and... he sure did like that paint job she gave him before. He stares as Torque misses, then Contrail comes to grab the Bot. "Torque." He says quietly, then more loudly. "TORQUE." Contrails gets a look, too. "Contrail... I..." Actually, Contrail is looking rather hot right now too. Oh slag, he's really drunk. "That's enough. I've been thrown out of enough bars lately as it is. Or casinos. Whatever. Let us have another drink....Uh, on me." There, he will try to be the civilized mech here. Air Raid kind of... /likes/ being told to kneel. And /doesn't know why oh godddd/. He just stands there in some stunned silence filled with shame and misery, and the only glimmer of hope is Contrail, Contrail and her shiny wings and pointy nosecone. Golly... So drawn up in his own world (yet again) he doesn't really see Torque throwing a punch, nor does he see Contrail catching her fist. He does, instead, sulk back towards the bar and join Blast Off in his flusteredness. Sandstorm bahs. "Wow, you guys suck if the dames are gonna go make out with each other instead." Followed by a laugh at Blast Off. "Oh get off yourself, shuttleboy. Getting thrown out in the end is half the fun." His heckling is only interrupted for a moment as he chugs down another glassful of the strong stuff he's been practically inhaling all night. Then gets back to the show. "Com'n you two, kiss already!" Did.. did Contrail just catch her hand? Ths catches Torque off-guard, optics widening. And wait, what's she doing? Oh Primus, she's asking her to dance. Drunken rage halts immediately and instead turns to shock, then to embarrassment as a flush of violet overtakes her cheeks and antennas flick backwards bashfully. "Uh.. I uh.." Contrail /is/ kinda boxy... Swoon mode, activate. It's on Blast Off's second attempt shouting at her that Torque breaks away from her stare, "Huh? What?" She gives the mech a bewildered look. "Hn.." She didn't exactly wanna get thrown out.. The femme turns back to Contrail and tries to take a single step back, head just a tad clearer as she says in a flustered tone, "Yeeaah, last time I got drunk near a Con femme.. You don't wanna know." Hopefully the Con isn't persistant or this may get interesting. And Sandstorm is seriously not helping. He's lucky she's not coming over to kick his aft instead. Sandstorm would probably enjoy it. Contrail is so boxy. She's also really enjoying just how flustered Torque is. That's right, Autobot, /squirm/. Contrail allows Torque to step away and suggests, "Another time, then." There's always another day to play mindscrew with the Autobots. Besides, this means Torque is headed towards Blast Off. Octane mutters to Sandstorm, "Once it rubs off, they can't resist. Octane's Magic Mojo." He smiles as Torque heads for Blast-Off. Blast Off huffs at Sandstorm calling him "shuttleboy". "*Some* of us are *civilized* mechs. We do not seek to be thrown out- of *anything*." He sniffs disdainfully, then turns his attention back to Torque and Contrail. Torque's comment gets a curious look, but then he decides she's probably right. ...Well, maybe. He stands there a moment longer, then grabs Torque's arm himself. Yes, *Blast Off* grabs someone's arm. He's... really quite drunk. He tugs her back towards the bar, a tone of confidence finally returning to his voice. "Come." This he can do. Mainly because he's drunk as all get-out. "Actionnnnn!" Octane sings, little bit of gyration in the hips. Nods approvingly. Air Raid has /no idea/ what's going on. But that serum is starting to wear off proper. He perks somewhat, lifting his head from the bar. "Is it the new year yet!? HAPPY NEW TERRAN YEAR!" She.. she let her go just like that? Torque is actually.. a little disappointed, to be honest. Seems Contrail's more the tease type, which leaves the tow truck pining a little. Boxy, conehead, triplechanger femme that turns into a hot lambo! An opportunity now lost. But Blast Off, surprisingly, steps back in to grab Torque while she's baffled and pull her away, the femme stumbling in his wake. "Eh? I uh.. alright.." She's a little lost, right now, though she gathers herself up enough to focus on Sandstorm and give him a hard knock to the back of her head with her fist in passing. *clang* Really that wouldn't bother him usually because of that box around his head, but Torque's got quite the arm and the thump is enough to pitch Sandstorm forward to plant his face on the bar.... though in the end he just laughs a bit at it. "Pfff. Normally this doesn't happen until after I'm plastered off my exhaust." Octane lays a tablet in front of the barkeep who slides it below the counter, smiling and nodding. "Well Mechs, it's been fun, and truly a party, but this guy here's gotta head out. Blast Off...well...looks like you got the hang of it. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Which isn't much, if I were you." Winking an optic, he strolls out of the bar's entrance, taking the free booze wagon with him. He stops outside, the door not completely closed, and peeks his head in. "By the way, you all might want to check with the bartender about that tab. Vintage 2016 isn't cheap." He quickly shuts the door after him. Air Raid gives you a winning smile and TWO THUMBS UP for your EPIC ROLE-PLAY. "Don't stop being AWESOME! And remember, FEAR NOTHING!" And he also gives you a +nom. Don't spend it all in one place. Air Raid has left. Contrail does have better things to be doing than messing with Torque and Air Raid's heads. She's just going to assume that Octane and Blast Off won't get themselves killed. This may be a bad assumption. In any case, Contrail sets her shanix down on the bar to pay off her tab, and she heads off. <'Decepticon'> Contrail says, "Blast Off. Octane. Don't die." Blast Off continues leading Torque back to the bar. "As I was saying.... I explore space all the time. I see things ground- uh, non-orbital vehicles could not even imagine. It's all quite... exciting, really! *Dangerous*, even. Yes, I live... dangerously. Space exploration is not for the timid, after all. Especially when you're out there all alone. You must be... resourceful." Octane gets a stare, then a nod. With something almost akin to a twirl (a rather graceful one, despite being really drunk), the Combaticon moves to lead Torque back to the bar. <'Decepticon'> Blast Off says, "Why would... why would I do that? I'm "living it up"!" <'Decepticon'> Contrail says, "You can never be too careful." <'Decepticon'> Octane says, "Actionnnn!" Contrail has left. Contrail heads back to OOC-Land. <'Decepticon'> Scorn says, "Blast Off 'living it up'? Oh dear." <'Decepticon'> Blast Off says, "Pffft, I know that. I'm always.... always... what was the word again?" "Well that's what yah get for suggesting I kiss her." Torque retorts to Sandstorm with a snort, though she's smirking so she can't be all that mad. Attention turns back to Blast Off as he explains the perils of space, Torque grinning in response. "Sounds fun. Too bad I don't go into space too often. I always thought it was pretty, despite being so lonely." The twirl catches her off guard, the femme nearly falling over in her still drunken state. But she steadies herself and laughs softly while being led back to the bar. "So tell me about some of the places you've been, yeah? And next round's on me." It was New Years, so why not be nice? Plus, he wasn't terrible to talk to, so it's fair to say they'll be chatting for a good while tonight. It's fair to say, however, that she'd either be passed out or dragging Raid home by the end.